House of Vamp (Home Sweet House)

House of Vamp

Home Sweet House

Jesse McDowell

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Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2013 Jesse McDowell

License Notes: This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Edited by Victoria Perkins

Cover design by J. M. Jofke

www.jofke.in.rs

Published by Jesse McDowell New York, NY

Jesse@JesseMcDowell.com

Ebook formatting by www.ebooklaunch.com

Table of Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

After all, the best secrets are those kept hidden in plain sight.

- Heir Vamp

CHAPTER ONE

When the most sought-after designers in the world were vampires, it only made sense that fashion week would take place at night, if only just for the drama of it. The late hour didn't seem to discourage the throngs of fans - some of fashion, some of the designers, most of vampires - from gathering at the perimeter. The different types of fans were easily distinguishable. A small group huddled together, glaring at the others. The larger group had come in a variety of costumes, from the classic Dracula to the more contemporary glitter-in-the-sun types. Over half wore plastic fangs. Two-thirds were toting signs, most of which said things along the lines of: Marry me, Alexander / Erickson or We (heart) Shianne. Massive security guards were posted every thirty feet, each chosen for their sheer size and fright factor. Behind them, white tents gleamed in the darkness of Bryant Park, lit up from the inside. The tent in the center, larger than the rest by several dozen square feet, was the only black one, the color marking it as much as its size. This was the reason security had been steadily increasing over the past half century.

Inside the tent, backstage was controlled chaos. Models were surrounded by stylists, most of the heavily made-up faces expressionless, bodies motionless as they were poked and prodded. One, an exotic-looking woman, not much more than skin and bones, glowered at a new assistant as the girl attempted to apply a final touch of eyeliner. A pretty twenty-something man burst into tears as the skirt he was attempting to adjust ripped. His model just rolled her eyes and called for assistance.

Weaving her way through the crowd, a slender blond made for the center of the action. Behind her, a cameraman struggled to keep up, only half paying attention to the reporter's chatter. Come on. The show is going to start before we even get the damn camera on back here. Who else has free reign backstage? Huh? Us only! This is the chance of a lifetime. House of Vamp's newest line is guaranteed to set the fashion world buzzing. Intent on getting to her prime location, Kelly Houser didn't see the sheaf of dark silk in her way until she stumbled on it. She fell sideways, catching herself on a nearby chair.

Watch it, you minimum wage paparazzi! The figure in the chair snarled. Prussia Vamp glared at the reporter, her emerald green eyes bright. The magazine on her lap slid to the floor. The face of an almost too-thin model peered up at the ceiling.

Kelly straightened, cheeks pink with embarrassment. As she smoothed down her skirt, she retorted, we're not paparazzi. We're media. She looked at the barely adolescent girl, disdain clear as she took in the girl's bright red hair, pulled back from a scowling face in a sloppy ponytail, holey jeans and oversized black t-shirt declaring 'Life sucks... and not in a good way.' Kelly's voice took on a decidedly snarky tone. And you look like a boy. Kelly turned to her cameraman. Let's go by the entrance to the stage.

From her chair, Pru rolled her eyes and flashed her fangs at the gawking cameraman.

Um, Kelly, she's a Vamp.

Kelly stopped mid-step and nervously ran her fingers through her bangs. She kept her back to Pru, as if weighing her options. Without turning, Kelly answered. I don't care who she is. Let's go. With a shrug, the cameraman followed Kelly forwards towards a pale, dark-haired woman wearing a microphone headset. If either of them heard the Vamp mutter a litany of creative curses, they didn't show it.

Eight minutes everyone, eight minutes till showtime, Di had been directing the show for years and spoke with a calm, professional tone, voice just loud enough to be heard over the din. Where's Taylor Ann? Someone find Taylor Ann. Tell her she's number two. Di's dark eyes glided over Kelly without any real interest. All right, models, line up. She turned her back on the reporter, addressing her attention to a petite young woman with a clipboard.

Kelly cleared her throat, expecting immediate attention. Di might have been the show runner, but Kelly knew that the vampire wasn't natural born. Anyone who did their research knew that Di had been turned by Heir Vamp's mother centuries ago. Rumor had it that she'd even been Heir's nanny once upon a time. Not that it mattered, in Kelly's opinion. Turned vamps, even ones as old as Di, were nothing more than second-class and she didn't want to waste her time with anything less than first class. Then again, all of that only mattered if you actually believed they were vampires. Which, of course, Kelly didn't. Maybe. When Di still didn't acknowledge her, Kelly cleared her throat again. When nothing happened again, Kelly scowled, pretty face twisting. She took a step forward, ignoring the warning hand her cameraman put out.

Director, Kelly started, grabbing Di's arm.

With a speed that made Kelly's eyes widen, Di spun around, fangs bared. What? The vampire growled.

Um, uh, Kelly stammered, unable to remember what had been so important.

Take your hand off me, Di's dark eyes glittered. Unless you want to lose it.

Kelly retracted her hand and Di's expression softened. The brunette continued in a brisk business voice. What can I do for you?

I, uh, camera, report, Kelly gestured towards the cameraman as color started to make its way back into her face. Maybe she needed to rethink her stance on the Vamps' claims.

Newton will show you where to set up, Di motioned towards a tall, skinny man with brown hair and a prominent Adam's apple. Di turned again, obviously dismissing them.

This way, Newton seemed bored by the entire show. He led Kelly and the cameraman to an empty spot and left without a word.

Kelly let out a shaky breath and instructed her cameraman to start setting up.

On the other side of the curtain, rows of fashionable guests lined both sides of the long, white runway. Stage lights lit up the stage but the audience was left in a shadowed darkness, illuminated only by the old-fashioned lanterns posted every ten feet or so. Jewels and sequins alike sparkled as they caught the light. An elaborate white marble statue glowed from the shadows, the faces of the entire Vamp family staring at those gathered. A few in the audience shifted uncomfortably, as if the stone eyes were capable of seeing them. Some of the more superstitious ones clutched at the crucifixes hidden under their clothing.

At the side of the runway, the two seated Vamps were only too aware of the reactions around them. They may have both looked like they were in their mid to early twenties but they'd been around long enough to expect such reactions. If people were convinced that crosses and garlic could ward off vampires, nothing the Vamps said would convince them otherwise. Erickson Vamp found the entire thing only too amusing. In fact, he often enjoyed seducing those who claimed protection behind such things. Not that, with his muscled body, chiseled jaw and dark good looks, he needed help in that area. Nor was he like his half-brother Alexander who constantly had a stream of half-naked models entering and exiting his room. He liked to think of himself as more discreet and controlled than that.

They're still sore, Erickson complained, tapping the tip of his tongue against one of his titanium-capped fangs.

Shianne Vamp rolled her baby blue eyes dramatically, hoping one of the nearby cameras would catch her reaction to her brother's newest fashion accessory. She smoothed down her white skirt, feeling a stab of satisfaction at the way her tan complimented the pale cloth. Though she did have to admit, while she did like the darker skin, it had been so much easier when pale skin was the fashion. She hadn't had to resort to sprays to give her the look she wanted. Speaking of which, she probably could use a touch-up. Yeah, and I'm sure these knock-off designers can't wait to somehow profit off of your new accessories. Are they cemented on?

Honestly, I don't know, Erickson admitted. I forgot to mention that they aren't like the other teeth, that our fangs are similar to bone.

Shianne tossed her long blonde hair over her shoulder. Well, that's what impulse body modifications will get you: silver fangs forever.

You're one to talk with your oh-so-natural tan. Besides, they're titanium, not silver, Erickson bared said fangs at his sister for a brief second before suddenly changing expression, a wide smile spreading across his handsome face. He spoke low enough that only Shianne could hear him under the elevator music being piped in. There are those billionaire twins.

On the other side of the runway, two petite, almost too-skinny young women took their seats. Their faces were identical, but one had shoulder-length honey-colored curls while the other had caramel curls with sun-kissed streaks. Problem was, no one could remember which had which hair. They waved at Erickson, the one with the streaked hair dropping what one could assume was supposed to be a seductive wink.

Ah, and to which one will you be treating yourself? Shianne grinned, careful not to show fang. Too much made the media cast you as a monster, just enough made you a celebrity darling.

They're so tiny, I'd only be satisfied with both, Erickson waggled an eyebrow, drawing a laugh from his sister. His hazel eyes sparkled.

I just love this time of year, a voice interrupted the siblings' mirth. Valencia Vamp dropped into the empty seat on Shianne's other side. She smiled at the cameras flashing her way before turning her attention to her step-children.

Shianne fought to keep from wrinkling her nose. She could smell the dye Val had used to touch up her roots and knew that probably many of the humans could too. Not for the first time, Shianne felt a wave of gratitude that she'd Settled long before she had to worry about aging like Val. When medicine had evolved enough to alter her appearance from her valid forty-five to early forties, Valencia had jumped at the chance. Now, she just looked like any other Beverly Hills, botox-loving plastic surgery junkie, but Shianne knew, unlike human women, Val had to maintain steady treatments to keep up her appearance. Vampire skin didn't respond to manipulation well, and rarely maintained it. Me too. After all, it's when our family gets praised for our fashion brilliance.

Val clarified. That isn't just what I meant. But, true. The reviews have already been so great.

Erickson snorted inelegantly. You can't do any wrong when people fear you.

Val continued, not seeming to have heard Erickson's comment. Bringing back the corset to everyday wear just shows your father's... you know. I mean, he just, she searched for the right word and failed. Knows. You know?

We're starting, Shianne motioned towards the stage wings where a woman now stood.

Twenty-six year-old Alison Bowe soundlessly mouthed the words to her opening speech as a handsome young man fussed with her dark hair. She wore a House of Vamp original: a blood-red corset under a short black jacket and a floor-length black and red skirt. The young man putting the final touches on her hair had done her make-up as well, giving her charcoal eyeshadow and lipstick that made it appear as if she'd been drinking blood. All perfect for the night.

Di appeared at Alison's side and tapped her watch. The younger woman stepped up onto the stage. She took her place at the side and glanced back at Di. At the cue from Di, all of the lanterns winked out and a single spotlight shone on Alison as she faced the audience and began to speak.

As fashion week comes to an end, it only seems fitting to save the best for last, she paused dramatically. And who knows if we'll make it out alive.

Shianne and Erickson exchanged mildly amused glances. Erickson muttered under his breath, you'd think that'd be old by now.

Shianne felt rather than saw Val flinch at the word old and stifled the impulse to assure Val that Erickson hadn't been talking about her. Instead, she shook her head and replied, humans are so easily entertained.

On the stage, Alison was continuing with her opening monologue. Only here can you see a collaboration of such deadly proportion, featuring pieces from the most sought after designer family in the world. This show is said to be MND, a modern natural disaster, but I assure you, it is truly all man-made. Just like our amazing marble statue of the Vamp family. She motioned to the piece and a spotlight hit it. This one-of-a-kind work of art is being auctioned off tonight in our silent auction during and after the show. All proceeds will benefit, what else, but our local Manhattan blood bank, she paused and gave a little chuckle. "I mean, food bank!"

The music faded away as the runway lights ramped back up.

Alison's voice echoed in the near silence. Now, it is my pleasure to introduce you to the most anticipated show here at fashion week. Young ladies and rich gentlemen of our viewing audience, here is House of Vamp's 'Looks That Kill'!

The ground rumbled as an energetic mash-up of rock and hip-hop thundered through the speakers and the first model moved onto the runway. Backstage, Di waited for the first to reach the end before readying the second. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a familiar figure. She turned slightly, just enough to confirm that the tall, pencil-thin model was indeed Taylor Ann. The Vamp popped a few more red capsules into her mouth and chugged half a bottle of water, completely unaware that she was being watched. Di made a mental note to talk to Taylor Ann after the show. The dress she'd been assigned hung off her even though it had fit just a few days before and her long reddish-brown hair was dull and flat. Whatever Taylor Ann was doing wasn't making her chances of staying a model increase. Instead, she was starting to personify the 'living-dead' moniker the Vamps had been trying to get rid of for centuries. Best to address the issue while the negative publicity could still be contained.

* * *

As the models made their way down the runway, faces void of expression, nearly non-existent hips swaying in perfect time to the music, each piece had its own cheering section, every cry louder than the last. The roar grew as Di lined up the last four models, the vibration of sound going to through to her bones. It took her a moment to realize that this rumble wasn't coming from the crowd inside the tent. She was just about to send the showstopper through when a member of the security team burst through the curtain, uncharacteristic panic written on his face.

At the other side of the stage, Kelly Hauser